Break Me Down: Silver Tongued Devils Series Book 2

by Samantha Conley

  “Oh shit, that’s never good. Any idea what?”

  “It won’t surprise me if we end up with an impromptu trip to Colorado if they can’t get in touch with her.”

  “Skiing sounds like fun.”

  “That mean you’re in?”

  “What else are friends for?” We clink our beer bottles in a toast before I take a long drink.

  “In for what?” Isaac asks, mimicking the fight on the screen.

  “A trip to Colorado,” I reply.

  “Colorado? Snow bunnies? I’m in, for sure!”

  “Count me in too. This have to do with Mallory?” Derek asks, dodging a fake punch thrown by Isaac.

  “Girls are worried about her,” Brett states as he sits forward on the couch, beer bottle dangling between his legs. “If it’ll help them feel better about what she’s got going on up there, I’m all for a mini vacay.”

  “We can take a few days after Christmas before we go on tour in January. We just have to convince Brian it won’t interfere,” I mention, thinking about our manager.

  “Brian will understand. And if we time it just right, it shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

  “Speaking of which, we might want to start thinking about calling it a night. We gotta hit the gym in the morning, then the studio. We want to stay on Brian’s good side.”

  “Amen to that,” Derek calls out, raising his bottle in salute.

  “Okay, y’all, draw straws or whatever to decide who gets the couch. Unless two of you want to double up in one of the guest rooms,” Brett says as he rises from the couch and stretches.

  “You’re the host. Aren’t you supposed to offer up your bed and sleep on the couch?” Isaac asks with a grin.

  “Fuck you. No one is sleeping in the bed I make love to my woman in. Y’all work it out. Good night.”

  “Rock, paper, scissors? Loser gets the couch?’’ Isaac asks, throwing out a fist.

  “You’re on.” Derek and I throw out a fist and the game begins.

  It’s still early when the clatter of footsteps on the landing draws my attention. Grabbing my keys, I rush to the door, hoping to catch my mystery woman on the way out. I’m not set to meet the guys at the gym for another thirty minutes, but it’s like this invisible force continues to push me to find out more about her. Maybe it’s even the fact that she is elusive that’s keeping me intrigued. Either way, I step through the threshold, locking the door on my way out, and stop when I see the older lady standing outside the mystery woman’s apartment, luggage sitting at her feet.

  Leaning in, she hugs the dark-haired girl, and I attempt to get a glimpse at her while patting my pockets down, acting like I forgot something so I don’t look too obvious. That would be a great impression, being the creepy neighbor who just stares whenever someone opens a door. Scoffing, I turn back toward my door and fiddle with the key in the lock while glancing back over my shoulder. The brunette pulls back, swiping a hand under both her eyes to wipe away a few stray tears, and my heart lurches at the sight. I’ve never been able to handle women while they’re crying, but there’s something about this girl that makes me want to swoop in, brush away her tears, and mend whatever is broken inside her. She may not be broken, but those tears mean she’s hurting, and I want to take the hurt away.

  I shake my head and push my door open, then step inside, continuing my fallacy. Hushed whispers fill the space around me, but I can’t make out any words. The honking of a horn from the parking lot has the older woman reaching for her bags and giving the mystery lady one last hug and a kiss on her cheek. As the older woman heads for the stairs, I step back onto the landing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the younger woman before she retreats into her apartment, or maybe it’s a place that’s become more like a solace to her considering she hasn’t seemed to leave it. I watch as she watches the woman make her way down the car, and before she turns to head back into her apartment, her gaze locks on mine. My eyes widen as the breath in my lungs nearly expands them to bursting. Shocked to my core, I let the air out in a whoosh.

  “Mallory?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I clear my throat, my brows furrowing as I debate whether this is really Mallory or a weird doppelganger. Her friends are planning a search and rescue mission, and here she is standing in front of me.

  I blink, then step forward, scrutinizing her features. “Mallory, what are you doing back here?” I ask, moving forward again, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and faded green across her cheek, the remnants of healing bruising. My heart thumps wildly, and I clamp my teeth together in an attempt to ward off the anger from thoughts about how she got that bruise in the first place. Her lips part, as if she’s about to say something, then press into a flat line. Two front teeth pop out, taking her bottom lip between them as she dips her head, a soft blush taking over cheeks. She seems so shy—so different from the extroverted girl I met so long ago. I reach out, wanting to…I have no idea. Touch her? See if she’s real? Hold her hand to feel the soft skin of her palm against mine and will her to spill all her secrets? But the second I do, she back steps, shaking her head. Her eyes dart back to mine for only a second before she shuffles back farther, breathes deep through her nose, then lifts her head to face me fully.

  “Um…hi, Jason. How are you?” she asks, the movement of her hands as she intertwines her fingers catching my attention. When I look back up, her gaze is riveted on anything but me.

  “I’m good, Mal. How are you? Are you feeling any better? You seem to be moving easier than the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m feeling better. Not as much pain.” She bites her bottom lip again, as if she’s debating something. “Can you not mention me being back here yet? I’m not ready for Kristen and Camryn to know. Not yet.”

  “Well, that’s going to take some explanation on your part. Why in the world would you not want your best friends to know you’re home? Do you realize how worried they are about you? They are planning to head to Colorado after Christmas to find out how you are.” Looking down at the ground, she takes a deep breath. When she looks back at me, there are tears in her eyes. I move toward her, and she flinches, hunching into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. What the fuck? “Mal?”

  “Can we talk about it later? I just…” her voices waivers, “I just can’t right now.”

  “I’ll come by tonight.” She looks up at me startled, her dove gray eyes large. “I’ll bring some dinner, and you will tell me what is going on. I’ll be here at seven. That okay?” Being this forceful with her when it’s obvious she’s hurting makes me feel like shit, but if I give her any room to decline, she’ll take it. She hesitates for a moment before nodding. Then, she hurries into her apartment and shuts the door, the locks engaging as soon as the wood touches the frame, as if she’s worried I’ll follow her inside.

  Taking slow, deep breaths, I try to regain control over myself as rage pours through me. I sure as hell hope what I think is going on is not what happened. Keeping her face hidden with her hair, trying not to gain notice from other people, flinching away with quick movements—she acted just like my sister did when her husband was beating her. I hope to hell I’m wrong. Otherwise, there’s a motherfucker I’m going to have to hunt down and kill.

  Mallory

  Leaning back against the door, hand on my chest, my heart pounds, as if I just ran a sprint. My sobs steal my breath as I try to push the fear back down. How is it the first time I come out of the apartment, I run into Jason? My luck never changes. It was inevitable since he lives next door, but I hoped I would have a little better handle on myself before it happened. I had told Donna when we moved in I knew him from before and needed to lay low and avoid him since I didn’t want anyone knowing I was back before I was healed. Which was a great excuse to hide myself away from the world in this apartment. Physically, I’m almost there. Mentally…well, this just proved I’m nowhere near ready.

  God, I wish Donna was still here, but I can’t keep her from her life. It wo
uld be selfish. For the first week, Donna had to help me with everything. And I do mean everything. Nothing will humble you like having someone else wiping your ass. I hurt so bad the first few days, I could barely move. She encouraged me to eat when I had no appetite. She gave me sponge baths and helped me dress in these old lady gowns she had bought while I winced in pain. Finally, the hurt receded enough that I could get up and in the shower. That was the most glorious feeling—the hot water beating down on my battered body. And washing my hair? Nothing felt as magnificent. Slowly, day by day, it became a little easier.

  Deciding a shower is in order since I’m going to have company later whether I like it or not, I head that way. Wrapping the towel around me after getting out, I wipe away the condensation on the mirror and get a good look at what I’ve been avoiding. I need to know what Jason saw when he looked at me earlier. Touching the side of my face, most of the bruising has faded to the ugly yellow color. Moving my jaw back and forth, there is only a slight pain. I guess I should count myself lucky that he didn’t break my jaw. Diminishing yellow, greenish bruises dot my torso, along with my thighs. My ankle is still swollen and hurts if I put a lot of pressure on it. God, I’m a fucking mess. What the hell did he think when he saw me this way?

  After limping into the bedroom, I put on my clothes, and strap my leg back into this clunky ass walking boot. Ibuprofen is calling my name as my ankle throbs in time with my heartbeat. Downing four of the clear blue capsules with a big gulp of water, I move to the couch to sit down, arranging myself so my leg is propped up and the pressure around my ribs lessens. I will never again question a patient when they complain about the pain of broken ribs. This crap ain’t for sissies. Settling back against the cushions, I listen to the television drone on as my eyelids get heavier.

  The grumbling of my stomach wakes me. Stretching, I notice I’ve slept for two hours. My life revolves around watching TV, sleeping, and snacking. I always seem to be munching on something, my stomach never full. For the first week, I wanted nothing to do with food, but as soon as I started moving around, it came back with a vengeance. With a Dr. Pepper and a bag of Doritos in hand, I resume watching the mindless nothing that is daytime television. Absently nibbling on the cheesy goodness, my mind drifts to Jason coming over tonight. What the hell am I going to tell him? The truth? Hell, I can barely think about it much less talk about it. I could try to just stick to the story of the car accident, but that wouldn’t explain why I don’t want Kristen and Camryn to know I’m back. They’re my best friends, and they would have known about the accident and me moving back. Not this secrecy stuff. But how the hell do I tell a guy I was crushing on at one time I’m weak? That I didn’t fight back? That I stayed with a guy who treated me like a punching bag? That when I did try to get away, he almost killed me? Wetness drops onto my arm. Once started, the flood gates are open. Great big, gut-wrenching sobs come over me, until there’s nothing left. Bracing my ribs against the pain, I try to catch my breath. I tentatively get myself up and head to my bedroom where the bottle of pain pills is in the drawer of my bedside table. I haven’t had to take any in the last few days, but I need one now. Swallowing one of the potent white pills, I lie down on the bed and wait for it to kick in.

  Pounding on the door drags me from slumber as I try to pull myself up. The pills make me woozy, and I detest them, but they do get rid of the pain. The pounding comes again. The clock reads five minutes after seven. Gingerly getting off the bed, I realize the pain in my ribs has lessened considerably. As soon as I reach the door, a glance through the peephole shows Jason there. The relief sweeps through, making me lightheaded, weak in the knees, causing me to sag against the door. With a determined look on his face, he raises his fist to knock again.

  “Hold on a second.” He lowers his hand, a look of relief on his face as I begin to unlock the three different locks on the door beside the chain. I finally get it open and see him leaning against the doorframe. Moving back so he can come in, I smile shyly at him. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. I was worried you weren’t going to answer.” He comes through the door carrying a sack with a delicious aroma wafting from it. Mexican food.

  “Sorry. I was asleep.” Following him to the table, he sets the bag down and starts taking out Styrofoam containers and placing them on the table. Skirting around him, I reach into the cabinet for some plates and silverware. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I brought some beer,” he replies, the glass bottles clinking as they hit the table top.

  “Oh, okay,” I say, taking way longer than necessary to get the single plate while searching for the courage to face him. I’m sure I look like hell—rat’s nest hair, red, puffy eyes…and my fingers itch to reach for the hem of my shirt, praying it covers my ass.

  “Now, do you want to tell me what had you crying earlier?” I stiffen at his words, though I should have known he noticed. He was always very observant.

  “Not really.”

  “If it has anything to do with what’s going on, I think you will. And I want the truth, Mallory. Not the car accident story I heard from the other lady.” I duck my head in an attempt to buy time, struggling to find something to say.

  “Donna,” I blurt out, then turn with the plates and forks, stepping toward him.

  “Huh?” he asks, his brow furrowed as he takes them from my hands.

  “Her name’s Donna. She was my boss in Colorado Springs.”

  “It was nice of her to come all the way down here with you.”

  “She’s helpful like that. She helps a lot of people.”

  “Go sit on the couch and get comfortable,” his gruff voice orders, leaving no room for arguing. “Get off that foot. I’ll bring you a plate.”

  I do as he says, trying to keep my limping to a minimum, but the heavy, black walking boot makes it impossible. The overflowing plate is moved into my line of sight, his hand large and dark against the whiteness. Our hands touch, and I soak up his warmth in the brief contact

  “Thank you. It smells great. I haven’t had really good Mexican food in forever.” We eat in silence, the droning of the TV in the background. Feeling stuffed, I lean back against the cushions, plate in my lap. The beer’s helping me relax. Trying to place my plate on the table, made difficult with my leg propped up, I catch movement out the corner of my eye. He reaches toward me, and I flinch back. Getting myself under control, I hand the plate to him, my hands trembling. Placing it on the table, he takes a deep breath, and I turn away, embarrassed by my actions. After a few tense moments, I glance at him out the corner of my eye. His muscular forearms rest on his strong thighs, tense, the muscles straining as he grips his knees until his knuckles whiten, his eyes trained on the floor. As if he can sense me staring, he looks up, and I turn away once more.

  “Okay, Mal. What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning. I know you moved to Colorado after your dad died.”

  At the mention of my dad, tears well in my eyes. The hurt from missing him makes my heart ache. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I swipe it away. “I was lost after my dad died. Being here hurt too damn much. And I needed to get away from the pain.” I pause to swallow the lump in my throat, the pain rising in my chest. “Todd had been offered a position in Colorado and wanted me to move there with him.”

  “That was kinda fast. You guys had only been together a couple months at that point, right?”

  “Yeah. He was moving much faster than I was ready for. The only thing really holding me back was my dad, you know. We are—were, the only family we had. When he died, there was nothing left here. Todd kind of just took charge afterwards, and I fell in line.”

  “I knew you took it hard after your dad died. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I thought you were in love with Todd, that’s why you decided to go.”

  “I don’t know what I felt. For the first few months, I was just numb. By the time I started coming out if
it, I decided to make a go of it there. Todd took very good care of me. Brought me out of my funk. I found a job at the hospital and started working in the emergency room. Todd liked his job. We were having a lot of fun together. For a while, everything was fine.”

  “So, what happened?”

  Grabbing my beer, I take a long drink, finishing it off. “After a while, he started nit picking everything I did. He was promoted at work, which meant more responsibility, more hours, more stress. He started going out the with guys a few nights a week to a local bar. Then, it became every night. He wouldn’t come home until after I had been home for hours, then started questioning me working so much. If I came in late, he’d accuse me of seeing someone at the hospital. I just blew it off. I loved my job, and I was learning so much. My mind was so full, I didn’t have time to dwell on missing my dad or Kristen and Camryn.” I swallow, wishing I had something harder to drink. “One night, I came in an hour later than normal. My replacement was late. When I got home, Todd was there, which was unusual since he never made it home before nine, and that’s at the earliest…and never had I seen him so angry. As soon as I hit the door, he was screaming at me, wanting to know why I was late. I could tell he was drunk. It was the first time I was afraid of him.”

  “And the first time he hit you?”

  “He was drunk again. I said something sarcastic.” At his snort, a smile crosses my face. “I know, right? Me, sarcastic? Anyway, he backhanded me across the face, and we both just stared at each other before I ran up the stairs.”

  “Fucking bastard.”

  “His way of apologizing was a candy bar and going off with his brother for the weekend.”

  “Why did you stay after he hit you the first time?”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know. I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him. I still haven’t figured that out. But I stayed even after things got really bad.”

  “How bad did it get?” The tone in his voice has me glancing over at him. He clenches his jaw, the vein in his forehead throbbing. His hands have moved to the arms of the chair, and I wonder if he’s going to rip them off with the force of his grip.